


A Life not Lived

by Barcardivodka



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Lewis Summer Challenge 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/pseuds/Barcardivodka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Val Lewis would often have the strange feeling that she and James should never have met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life not Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for the http://lewis-challenge.livejournal.com/ Summer 2013 challenge
> 
> With thanks, as always, to my betas and with special thanks to Tehomet. And a thank you to all on Twitter who had to put up with my panic!
> 
> Story based on a Summer Challenge prompt by Somniare: I would like to see a story where Val is still alive and well, and how James and Robbie met and the dynamics there. Does James become another ‘son’, an ‘older brother’? Or is it all narky and jealous and resentful?

Valerie Lewis ran a gentle hand over James’ hair, the same way she'd done with her own children when they were young and she had wanted to comfort them, or smooth away their pain. Although in his thirties, James looked so much younger when he was relaxed in sleep.

She brushed her fingers against his cheek, mindful of the bruise that extended from his temple to his hairline, and the neatly stitched gash at its centre.

She’d often had a strange feeling that she and James should never have met. That something malevolent should have transpired to prevent their meeting. Val always shook the feeling off, calling it a silly notion, putting it down to the way her mind often went; thinking of all the things that her son Mark would never experience, things they would never be able to share.

The loss of Mark had devastated her. She often thought that this strange feeling was just an echo of the guilt that she felt for loving James like a son. She would torture herself some days that Mark would look down and think himself replaced, when that was never possible.

After she and Robbie had returned from Robbie’s secondment to the Virgin Islands, James had been assigned to Robbie as his bagman. At thetime, James' inspector had been suspended pending an investigation into a drink-driving charge, and Robbie was glad to latch onto any reason to avoid the 'promotion' to the training centre.

James had then entered Val’s life. So endearingly bashful was he, that it made Val ache to hug the tall, lanky thing every time she saw him.

Robbie had laughed at such a notion. He saw James as a quick and clever sergeant, eager to be in the thick of an investigation instead of on the outskirts, only being used as a research tool.

But Val saw James as a lonely young man with a yearning to belong, but with little idea how to fit in, despite all his education and intelligence. He was similar to Mark in some ways. The way their faces would light up when they smiled and the way they spoke only when they had something important to say.

She’d been worried at first that she saw James as a replacement for Mark. Returning to Oxford had been hard on both her and Robbie. Their time in the Virgin Islands had helped them start to heal after Mark’s brutal murder. But coming back to the city, with reminders of Mark everywhere they looked, threatened to destroy them both again. Had both she and Robbie latched onto this awkward young man to try and fill the yawning chasm left in their hearts?

Val stilled her hand as she felt James stir. His glazed blue eyes slowly opened, blinking as he tried to focus on Val in the dimly lit room.

“Hello, love.” Val gently clasped James' right hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, smiling as her hand was squeezed in return. “How're you feeling?”

“Head hurts.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. You’ve got a right goose egg,” Val said. She smiled as she outlined the edge of the bruising with a gentle fingertip. “I would have thought after all this time you would have learnt to duck.”

“It was… a concealed weapon,” James said, as his lips twitched into a smile. His eyelids descended once again.

“Well, I’m sure that will be added to the oak tree’s charges. You should…” But James had drifted back to sleep. Val leant forward and kissed him on the forehead. “You’re a daft sod, you lanky bugger,” she whispered softly, as she once again ran a soothing hand over his hair.

When Robbie had dragged an uncoordinated James through the front door earlier today, Val had been horrified. James' shirt collar was covered in blood, and his suit jacket was stained too. His hair stuck up at odd angles from where the hospital staff had attempted to wash the blood out of it. It was the most dishevelled she had ever seen James.

Robbie had quickly assured her that James looked worse than he actually was. The suspect James had been chasing through woodland, being at least eight inches shorter than him, had cleared the area with ease. But James had hit his head on a low branch. The combined forces of PCs Harris and Ali, indignant from thinking they had seen their sergeant struck down, had quickly brought down the escaping suspect.

Robbie had waited in A&E while James' mild concussion was diagnosed and the cut on his forehead closed with six stitches. Then he took James home. He pulled the still-dazed James up the stairs to the spare bedroom, stripped him of his suit, pushed him down on the bed, and covered him with a duvet. Robbie had pecked Val on the cheek and left James in her capable hands while he sorted things out back at the station.

Robbie had been unable to keep the worry out of his eyes, even through his jokey telling of the tale. James was in for a fair bit of stick when he returned to duty. He was a well-liked and respected officer though, particularly with the PCs. The jokes at his expense would be far kinder than the more vindictive humour that officers often indulged in for those who were considered arrogant.

As Val continued to stroke James' hair, she wondered what her life would have been like if James hadn’t become a part of it, if that strange feeling had been an omen. Would she still have the varied social life that she had today?

She had been determined to ease James from behind the walls his past had built. He had been far too young and far too handsome to bury himself away from the world. Her efforts produced some unexpected results.

It had been easy at first, to ask James to accompany her to plays, exhibitions, readings and events she thought would interest him, and then making him stay and mingle afterwards.

A trip to an art exhibition had resulted in James forming a friendship with the young artist, Phillip Horton. Attendance at a talk on the Dead Sea scrolls led to the real-ale loving Professor Bernie Rutherford, and a night at the theatre to see a Jacobean revenge play had resulted in a friendship with Joanna Pinnock, a fellow theologian. There had been so many more friendships forged over the years. James was now a young man who very frequently acted his age and indulged in his diverse range of passions.

She knew James had worked out her ploy from the very beginning. He was a detective, after all. But he’d still accompanied her whenever she asked. On many occasions, he'd invited her to join him. He’d seemed to take courage from her presence at the beginning, whilst he learnt the important art of small talk.

Val had become too ambitious when her efforts turned to matchmaking. After a few disastrous attempts, James had asked Val to stop. The request had been falteringly made, with James flushed with embarrassment as he attempted to explain his confusion over his sexuality. Val had pulled him into a tight hug, her eyes shimmering with tears and told him: “ _God made you, James. He made you to love and to be loved. If you love a woman, or a man, James, it will never be wrong.”_ She’d immediately stopped her endeavours and let James find his own way. She couldn’t stop herself, however, from gently encouraging James to approach a young man or woman who had caught his eye.

Helping James to overcome his reticence had opened up a whole new world to Val. A stay-at home mum, Val had been entrenched in her children’s hobbies and interests. She joined school and sport committees and provided a 24/7 taxi service, all as a background to being a supportive wife to Robbie, as he desperately tried to find his own balance between work, and being a husband and father.

By helping James to break down some of his walls, Val had nourished her love of art, going beyond just liking what she saw, but understanding the depth and meaning of it. Robbie and James had encouraged her to study for an Open University art degree. She was now in her final year. A part-time job at the Blackwell’s Art shop had given her access to gallery openings and private viewings of rarely displayed artwork kept in the bowels of the city’s museums. She was once again a member of several committees, from youth art projects, to bringing world-renowned art collection exhibitions to Oxfordshire.

Her life was full. Her long marriage to Robbie was still full of passion and happiness, and there was a much-adored grandson for them both to spoil, with another on the way.

Although part of her heart would forever grieve for Mark, the rest of it was full of love and contentment.

Val looked down at the sleeping James. The odd feeling rushed over her again, that this shouldn’t be, that she and James should never have met.

If James had never become Robbie’s bagman, would her life have been as full, so accomplished?

Would James have found someone to help him find guidance and happiness?

Val shook her head at such thoughts. Of course this was meant to be.

 

The alternative was unthinkable.

 


End file.
